


Commutatus Ultima

by midnightprelude



Series: The Prince and the Apostate [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Canon, Self-Harm, Suicide, The Taint (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightprelude/pseuds/midnightprelude
Summary: He survived the Ferelden Circle, the Fifth Blight, the Deep Roads, the Kirkwall Rebellion, the Mage-Templar War. He joined the Inquisition to fight Corypheus and close the Breach. He fell in love with an exiled Tevinter mage and worked to bring justice to Minrathous.Anders of Kirkwall never thought he’d live to hear the Calling, not when he’d finally found safety, acceptance, and a love that transcended borders.The Blight corrupts everything it touches, destroying all in its path, leaving only ash.For all of his strength, Dorian Pavus, Magister of the Tevinter Imperium, couldn’t keep it from ravaging his lover.
Relationships: Anders/Dorian Pavus
Series: The Prince and the Apostate [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664638
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16





	Commutatus Ultima

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trivialsins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trivialsins/gifts).



> I’m not sure if it was Trivial or me who had this terrible, awful, no-good, very bad idea of exploring how Dorian would deal with Anders succumbing to the Taint, but here you go. I got the image in my head and couldn’t get it to leave until it was typed out.
> 
> In our heads, they’re living very happily together in Minrathous, Justice stopped this madness somehow, or Dorian did.

The candles in the mausoleum were burning low, flickering in the darkness. It was an unusual ceremony, not because of the rituals—those were common in Tevinter—but because of the man they were being performed for. Typically only heads of house, Magisters and the most powerful Alti, were interred in this manner, bodies magically preserved and displayed for family members to gawk at at a formal wake, their heir standing guard over the corpse.

The man lying silently in repose upon the dais had no blood relatives he recognized as kin, was born a farmer in a country far away, once a criminal and a fugitive, a hero, a villain, a madman, a prophet, a revolutionary, a politician, a healer.

There were a thousand words that could be used to describe Anders of Kirkwall, but only one that mattered to the man who stood vigil at his feet: _amatus_.

Dorian had avoided looking at his lover since he had entered the sanctuary, dark cowl low over his eyes. He’d never thought he’d take on this role—he had abdicated the responsibility to his mother when his father passed away—and he loathed the tradition. He felt guilty for forcing they duty upon his mother all those years ago. They’d made some sort of peace about it, Anders had seen to it—he charmed Aquinea Pavus nearly as easily as he’d won over Dorian, but the gnawing feeling that he’d shucked off his duty felt particularly poignant standing over his husband’s body.

He stood as though carved in marble, close enough to touch his lover, lost in his memories of their last weeks together.

* * *

“I’m not going back to the Deep Roads, love, you can be assured of that,” Anders had said, when the Calling finally began tugging at his mind. “When I go, I want to be surrounded by beauty.”

Twelve years of peace they’d had, more than they thought they’d get, avoiding thinking about the inevitable. Twelve years trying to help their colleagues in the South reform the Circles; twelve years trying to improve relations between Tevinter and the rest of Thedas; twelve years trying to bring justice to Minrathous. They’d hardly spent a single night away from each other since Anders had come to Tevinter, braving assassination attempts, diplomatic missions, and a war at each other’s sides. Dorian had never thought they’d live long enough to see the Taint finally take Anders from him; there were so many other things that seemed bent on tearing them apart.

“I can fight it for a time, darling, but not forever,” Anders said, holding him close, a whisper in his ear. They hadn’t spoken about it in the weeks since Anders had first heard the voices of the Old Gods, calling him to join the darkspawn, but they hadn’t needed to—the Taint had taken over Dorian’s thoughts and dreams in the meantime. Night after night, he watched his lover’s smile fade as he contorted into something monstrous in his dreams. Even his subconscious knew that attempts to postpone it would be futile.

“I want to die like I lived, Dorian, on my own terms and in your arms,” Anders said, his voice cracking. Six months had passed and the Call had become more insistent. Anders was spending more and more time staring off into the distance, at something Dorian couldn’t see, no matter how he tried. He’d taken a leave from the Senate, his apprentices taking care of the day-to-day and giving him reports, to spend every moment with his lover.

They traveled, drinking in the world like they were dying of dehydration, wandering the streets of Minrathous, Nevarra City, and Llomeryn together, trying to forget that their time was limited. The sand ran slowly through the hourglass, but it was relentless, every moment bringing them closer to devastation.

Dorian saw the dagger glinting in Anders’ hand and he shook his head, turning away. He’d brought them a bottle of wine and two goblets to share it with, a grim parallel to the night they’d met. Both nights Dorian was left alone, watching Anders depart, wondering where the time had gone, wishing he could pull Anders into his arms.

“Love, amatus, Dorian...” Anders said, hands on either side of his face, kissing his forehead, reassuring him, voice tender and warm. Anders was smiling, damn him, and for the first time in weeks it wasn’t fake. “It has to be tonight. Justice says I’m out of time. I wish...” His voice wavered, finally shattering. “I wish I could stay with you, love, more than anything. I never wanted to leave you alone, like this, it’s cruel and selfish and—,”

Dorian ran his fingers through Anders’ hair, the back of his throat on fire and eyes burning. “Stop, amatus,” he said, shushing him. “You haven’t been selfish a day in your life. Let’s open this bottle, shall we?”

The cork came out easily enough and Dorian poured for them both, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He spilled a few drops on the wooden floor and wiped them on his robes, almost like a memento. They sat drinking on the floor, backs pressed to the bed they’d shared together for over a decade. Neither of them knew what to say. Perhaps they’d exhausted all of the words that could have helped.

It was possible there were none to begin with.

For once, Justice let Anders drink the entire bottle and when it was gone, they drank another, and a third, clinging to each other more tightly with each glass. Anders was laughing and crying in turns, flushed and giggly, and Dorian couldn’t help but think he was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

“Dorian?” Anders said, nestling his head in Dorian’s lap, a faint grin on his lips. “Do you think there are orgies at the Maker’s side? I can’t imagine an afterlife that looks like the one the Chantry preaches as anything but dreadfully dull.”

“Hmm, perhaps, but all of the participants will be Chantry brothers and sisters, knowing your luck. You’ll need to teach them how it works.”

Anders laughed, nuzzling against him. “I suppose I will. I’ve always enjoyed a challenge, though. You...” Anders broke off, tears welling in his eyes.

“What is it, amatus?” Dorian asked, stroking his hair, trying to memorize the feel of it, to capture everything about this moment.

“You don’t need to stop living just because I do, amatus,” Anders said, his voice wavering. “I don’t want you to forget who you are. Promise me you’ll be okay? Or I’ll have to come back and haunt you, love, until you remember to go outside and breathe.”

“I... Anders, I’m not sure how I can do that. The world is going to be... Without you, I’m not sure...”

“You made my life better than I ever could have imagined. Not even in my most optimistic dreams could I have come up with someone like you. I’ll always love you, Dorian, not even a little thing like dying will get in the way of that.”

Dorian wiped his eyes, sighing. “And you think words like those will make losing you any easier?”

“No, but I wanted to make sure I said them.”

“Don’t cross into the Void without me, amatus, or I’ll never forgive you.”

Anders smiled, reaching up to kiss Dorian’s lips, tears tinging their lips with salt. “I’ll stand right at the precipice until you come and take my hand again, love. Just don’t join me too soon, okay? You have a world to keep running.”

“Damnit, Anders, do we have to do this?”

Anders sat up and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’m not sure I want to drink any more wine, darling, it’s not making this any easier. We’re just procrastinating.”

“Kiss me,” Dorian managed to croak.

Their lips crushed against each other, warm and wet and exhausted. Dorian pressed Anders backwards, against the bed frame, kicking their empty goblets out of the way as he straddled him. Anders was sunshine and elfroot and antiseptic, wine and parchment and roses, silk and sweat and sex, love and laughter.

The metallic scent of blood mingled with the others, drowning them out. Dorian pulled back, meeting Anders’ eyes, his own transfixed by the pained expression in Anders’ honey-colored ones. Anders had buried the dagger deep within his own chest, both of their eyes widening at the realization, as though Anders had finally done it without thinking. If he had thought about it for more than a moment, he’d have lost his resolve.

Dorian stared at him in panic, part of him hoping Anders would heal the wound—he’d come back from worse before. Anders just smiled at him, his breath growing more ragged, wincing as he moved to wrap his arms around his lover, Anders’ blood warm against Dorian’s skin.

“I don’t regret a moment that we spent together, Dorian, not one.”

“Nor do I,” Dorian murmured, tears falling freely down his face, forging paths across his cheeks. “I’d do it all again, just to be with you for a little while longer.”

“We’ll meet again, amatus, when the world is quieter,” Anders said, his voice growing faint. “Even if I have to seduce the Maker himself.”

As Anders’ grip was growing weaker, Dorian’s tightened; with their chests pressed together Dorian could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady at first, then stuttering. His hands knotted in Anders’ hair, unwilling to let him go, unable to do anything else. 

Blood and wine would stain the robes Dorian was wearing, but the knowledge didn’t stop him from holding on to his lover as he died, or in the hours after, when he couldn’t bring himself to move from his place on the floor.

* * *

The candles had nearly died out when a small group had gathered around Dorian. He hadn’t noticed, had barely registered the guests who had come to pay their respects. They waited for him to look up, standing in silence.

Dorian eventually raised his eyes enough to notice the people who stood before him. Lyanna Lavellan, stood with Tyr, Cinna, and Trevor, cowl hiding her ears from view. She held the sergeant’s hand in hers and had an arm wrapped around Cinna’s waist. Rastar stood off to the side, silent and frowning; the mage had always been fond of Anders, sometimes living vicariously through him. His guards, who kept Anders safe from the world who wanted him burned alive during the Inquisition and had given him another chance at living, had come to see him off.

A lovely woman, Captain Isabela if her outfit and company was any indication, was with Varric, Merrill, and Fenris, as well as the burly man who could be none other than Hawke. Maevaris Tilani stood behind them, resplendent in black, her expression unreadable.

“Come on, love,” she said, addressing Dorian. “It’s just us now. We made sure of it. You can take all the time you want to say goodbye. We’ll wait for you outside the door.”

Dorian turned to Anders for the first time that day, taking in his expression. He’d seen him look like this a thousand times before. If he hadn’t known better, hadn’t *been there* when Anders had died, he would’ve thought he was just taking a nap. It was odd that there were no cats sleeping on his chest, but perhaps the two of them have been traveling together, the cats being cared for at home. His lover was maybe more pallid than usual, but he’d always been pale, and the coloring made his hair and lips seem all the brighter. Anders managed to light up the room, even now, even dead.

Dorian took his hand, slipping the signet ring Anders had worn since the wedding off and dropping it into his pocket, falling to his knees before the sepulcher.

**_WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE HIM?_** A voice echoed in his mind. **_YOUR MEMORIES AND HIS STILL EXIST IN THE FADE. THEY CAN BE CALLED UPON WHEN NEEDED._**

He was just getting used to the feeling of Justice in his mind. His new companion said that Dorian’s consciousness was quieter than Anders, less tumultuous, that it was easier to remain himself. Once Anders had died, Dorian had offered himself as a new host, partially to retain a connection to the man he loved and partially because he’d grown to love Justice too, in time. It was probably a horrible idea, but he’d always been overly sentimental.

He wondered what Anders would have thought.

**_ANDERS WOULD HAVE DONE THE SAME IF YOUR ROLES WERE REVERSED. WE HAVE BEEN TOGETHER LONG ENOUGH FOR ME TO BE CONFIDENT IN THIS._ **

_Is he part of the Fade now?_ Dorian asked, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

**_THIS IS ACCURATE IN A SENSE. HE LIVES ON IN THE FADE, THROUGH MEMORIES, IF NOTHING ELSE._ **

_Show me, then. I need to see him again._

—

A vision swam before his eyes, of the two of them standing together in front of a floor-length mirror, in matching cream silks, satin shoes on their feet. Anders wore a cape that trailed to the ground, feathers branching out from his shoulders. He was unfastening the Pavus birthright amulet around Dorian’s neck, his smile so real that Dorian felt his heart flutter.

“Magister Pavus,” Anders whispered in his ear, his voice sultry and delighted. “My _husband_ …”

Dorian kissed him on the lips running a thumb along his cheek.

“Lord Pavus,” he replied, matching his eagerness. “Lord Anders Pavus, of Kirkwall and Minrathous. It’s a bit on the tongue, but I like the rhythm.”

“Lord Pavus,” Anders said, sighing dreamily. “If you’d have told me I’d marry a magister, I’d never have believed you!” He grinned, shrugging his cape off and placing it delicately in the wardrobe. “Lord Anders Pavus, I love the way you say it. I hope you call me that when we’re making love from now on, _amatus_.”

Conspicuous on Anders’ left hand was the ring that had been handed down in the Pavus family since the Exalted Age, last worn most famously by Gideon Pavus while being tried for treason for advocating for peace with the south following the Fourth Blight. Dorian had placed it on his hand earlier that day, after their vows had been recited, glimmering gold in the shape of a snake, with two bright sapphires, four rubies, and a diamond the size of a sovereign glittering on Anders’ slender fingers.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Dorian said, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. Getting undressed was an unhurried affair and they allowed themselves to be distracted by conversation, laughter, and kisses through it all.

There was no reason to hurry. Dorian and Anders had all the time in the world.


End file.
